Mr Remora: More than a story
by Bellatree
Summary: Have you ever wondered about the stories behind Mr. Remora's Stories?
1. Of milk and television

Do you have any suspicions about Mr. Remora?

Mr. Remora was Violet Baudelaire, and Duncan Quagmire's teacher at Prufrock Preparatory School. He was always eating bananas, one after the other; he just 'popped' them in.

_Why?_

He always told pointless stories, and made the students take notes on them.

_Why?_

_Was he in VFD?_

_Is he noble?_

_Is he on the bad side of the schism?_

_Is he volatile? _

_Why was he at Hotel Denouement?_

_What important-and very big-details did he leave out of his stories?_

_What didn't he tell you?_

I can't answer _all_ of these questions, but I am determined to give you the story behind his stories.

* * *

"_One day I went to the store to purchase a carton of milk. When I got home, I poured the milk into a glass and drank it. Then I watched television. The end."_

–_**Mr. Remora, The AA**_

This story is only told in a couple of sentences, you can't tell a whole story in three or four sentences, not one as detailed as the following story about Mr. Remora. It happened on the very same day as the previous story, in fact, it _is_ the previous story…

* * *

It was a sweltering hot day. The weather was above 35ºC. There had been a heat wave over the last week, but no days had been as hot as this eventful Friday evening. 

Robert Remora was sitting under a ceiling fan reading _The Daily Punctilio_.

He scoffed as he shoved a banana into his mouth, reading the heading on the front page:

* * *

**Mr. Nero: Greatest Vice-Principal and Violinist Ever.**

By Geraldine Julienne.

Mr. Nero, the Vice-Principal of Profrock Preparatory school has been dubbed 'Greatest Vice principal and violinist ever.'

Every afternoon, Nero delights the students at Prufrock Prep to a concert, in which Nero plays the Violin.

Coach Genghis, the physical education teacher at the school says this:

**"Nero is a remarkable man! He must be the greatest violinist of his time! Just as I am the greatest coach of my time!**

He has only been at the school for two years, but Principal says that Nero runs the school better that himself.

Ever since Nero decided to be Vice-Principal, the quality of the school has gone up. He has hired teachers with knowledge of certain subjects, such as the metric system, and story telling. He has also set up a system of rules and boundaries, which ensures that the children do not get distracted, or get up to any mischief. Some comments of people from the area include:

**"I like Nero's style, he's strict but classy."**

**"I like that Nero has agreed to let orphans come to the school, especially if they have a big fortune."**

**"Nero si live, esaelp pleh em! L."

* * *

**

Mr. Remora dropped the paper, he would have thrown it down, but he was too hot and languid to bother.

"Stupid Nero, my salary can't buy me bananas! Figuratively speaking…"

He heard a mumble from the kitchen.

"What was that dear? I think I'm going deaf from Nero's sonatas."

A woman came in from the kitchen.

"I said, that Nero isn't _that_ bad, you just haven't got over the fact that Nero won the Violin of France Dance."

"Yes I have! I don't care if he won! And you would think he was bad too if _you_ had to work all day with him, and listed to his recitals for SIX HOURS!" Mr. Remora sighed. "Now I'm all worked up and grumpy. Would you be a dear and fetch me a banana?"

Now the woman sighed.

"No, you just ate the last one, if you want more, then you'll have to go down to the store yourself and buy some."

Mr. Remora sighed again.

"Oh all right."

He stood up, found his car keys and moustache, and then he headed out the door.

"Could you get some milk while you're at it?

Robert remora just grunted.

* * *

Mr. Remora pulled up at the small shopping centre, and walked inside. 

He let out a sigh of relief; it was so nice and cool inside.

He walked to the fruit isle, and picked up three bunches of bananas, then he walked over to the refrigerators and took out a carton of milk.

There were two pale-faced ladies standing near the fridge looking over a newspaper, and Mr. Remora happened to hear some of their conversation.

"Those Baudelaire brats are going to Prufrock!"

"We have to tell Olaf."

"It's going to be easy this time, no real guardians!"

They noticed Mr. Remora staring at them with a puzzled look on his face, and quickly walked out of the store.

Mr. Remora shrugged, and went to pay for the milk and bananas.  
He let out a shriek, and dropped everything.

"L! What are you doing here?"

The man behind the counter put his finger to his lips.

"Shhh! I don't want to get found!"

"Don't want to get found! I've found you! And why shouldn't I turn you into the police right now?"

"Can't you help out an old friend R? I'm looking for the Baudelaires."

"Old friend! Old friend! You betrayed me!"

"I had no other choice! And you were volatile!"

"Volatile! Maybe I still am Volatile! Don't be surprised if the police show up here! And I do not care one bit for those Baudelaires!"

And with that, Mr. Remora picked up the bananas and milk, and stormed out of the store into the hot sun without paying.

"Volatile! Volatile! After all the things I've done for him!"

* * *

He pulled up at his house, hopped out of the car, and slammed the door. He was still mumbling words like "Volatile!" and "Old friend!" when he walked into the house. 

"What was that dear?" Asked the woman.

Mr. Remora sighed.

"Nothing dear."

He put the bananas in the refrigerator, after he tore one from a bunch, and poured himself a glass of milk. He was very hot and worked up after his argument with L, and he needed to cool down. He drank his milk, and then he took his banana, sat down with the woman in the lounge room, and watched the news.

_Tonight's news; Lucky Smells Lumber mill could be closing down due to three children…_

* * *


	2. Of geese and cows

"One afternoon a man named Edward got into a green truck and drove to a farm. The farm had geese and cows. The end."

_**-Mr Remora, The A.A

* * *

**_

Here's the story in full detail..._**  
**_

_**Ring Ring!**_

Mr. Remora looked up at the wall. _That infuriating telephone!_  
He threw his banana skin into the rubbish as he made his way to the telephone.

_**Ring Ring!**_

"Hello?"

"Robert? It's E"

"Shh! Call me R, or Mr. Remora!"

"Ok, ok. I need a favor."

"_You_ need a _favor_?"

"Yes, VFD are after me, and I need a place to hide!"

"First of all, be careful of what you say on the phone! You don't know who might be listening!"

"Ok, sorry."

"And secondly, I hope you're not thinking of hiding here, because I don't know what they would do to me if they even found out I was communicating with you, also what could I tell my wife? She knows nothing of you-know-what, and she doesn't even know that I have a brother!"

"Why do you bother about her? Why couldn't you just join us instead? You wouldn't have to work in that stupid excuse of a training centre."

"BE CAREFUL OF WHAT YOU SAY!"

"Sorry!"

"And I'm not going to join you, we've been through this before, I don't want anything to do with it, I'm not like that, I don't start fires."

"You don't put them out either."

Mr. Remora was silent.

"Look, E, I'll help you out, but only because you're my brother. In one hour precisely, a truck made from green wood will drive down Lousy Lane. Pull them over and tell them that you are traveling to Valeria's Farm and Dairy."

"Ok, what next?"

"When you get to the farm, go outside to the big green barn. Go inside and find Old Harry, he'll be the only worker inside there. Ask him for a job feeding the geese and cows. He'll give you a job, stay working at the farm until you think it is safe to come into the world again."

"Ok."

"One warning, DON'T say anything…suspicious to Valeria, she owns the farm, and she used to be a volunteer. I've heard that she's volatile now, but who knows?"

"Ok, thanks for your help _R_, I gotta go, see you 'round."

"Bye."

-Click…

"Don't blow it Edward…"

Mr. Remora murmured to himself.

* * *

**A/N: Did you like it? I think there are two mare chapters coming, sorry if it's too short for all you people who like loooooooooooooong chapters:)**  



	3. Of donkeys and miles

**A/N: This one's a bit short, but what can you do? Hope you like it!**

* * *

"In my story about the donkey," he said, "how many miles did the donkey run?" 

"Six," Violet said promptly.

* * *

_It's dark, too dark to see, to dark to think, to dark to hear…_

_What's that noise? I'd better light a match to see._

_A letter? Where did this come from?_

_I'd better open it._

Dear **R**,

Terr**i**bly sorry about the fiery fiasco to**d**ay, you might want to know that they'r**e** following you; they know where you are. I'm sorry that I **d**id what I did, but I did what I had t**o** do. They do**n**'t know that I **k**now. I hop**e** this letter finds **y**ou at no.**6** and I hope that they don't. You **m**ust make haste R. **I** wil**l** do my b**e**st to **s**tall them in any way I can, but I'm no**t** sure I can keep them away for l**o**ng.

Good luck friend, find your way home. It ha**s** been **a** pleasure to know you.

**F**ir**e** will no**t** prevail. Nor will **y**ou fail.

With all due respect,

L.

_That blasted L, what would he know? The pesky traitor! How did this letter even get to me? _

_I suppose there's nothing else for me to do, that's the worst part; I don't want help from **him.**_

_Oh look! Here comes a donkey…_

* * *

**A/N: Did you like it? did you find the 'hidden' message? Even though it's not that hidden...anyway...bye! **


	4. Of mushrooms and chefs

**A/N: This doesn't really have a plot point, but I just record the stories, not make them up. Well, I do make them up, but...um...enjoy!**

* * *

"In my story about the mushroom," Mr. Remora asked Violet, "what was the name of the chef?" 

"Maurice," Violet answered.

* * *

"Come dear, what would you like to order?"

"Um…I think I'll have the spicy mushroom pate."  
The waiter scribbled something on his notepad, and then said with a strong French accent:

"A fine choice madam, and what would you like sir?"

"I think I'll have the same."

"Ok, so zat iz two plate of spicy mushroom pate, wiz garden salad. Would you like any of ze drinks?"

"We'll have a bottle of your finest champagne!"

"Ok, your meal should be here shortly, I will return wiz ze champagne."  
The waiter walked away from the table, and left the two diners smiling at each other.

"Oh Robert, thank-you so much! I can't believe you actually had reservations made here! Only famous people are allowed in here!"  
Mr. Remora scanned the room, and sure enough, at every table there was someone he recognized that was either an actor or actress, or a singer, or a writer, or a director, or a-well, you get the point.

"Seriously Robert, how did you get us a place in here? And how do you plan to pay?"

"I've got friends in high places," _Literally_, Mr. Remora thought to himself, "and it's our anniversary, you deserve something special, and I don't care how much it costs."

"Oh, you're so sweet! Here comes our wine."  
The waiter gave them their wine, and left them to themselves. They chattered away happily until they heard a noise.

**_Rumble rumble…_**

"What was that?"

"It was my stomach!"

_**Rumble rumble…**_

"Now my stomach's rumbling! I'm starving!"

"I wonder why our meal is taking so long to come, I'll go and find out."  
Mr. Remora stood up and walked over to the restaurant's kitchen and knocked on the door.

"Who iz it?"  
A chef opened the door without giving Mr. Remora time to answer his first question.

"What do you want?"

"I want to know why our meal hasn't arrived yet! It's taken over two hours!"  
The chef turned into the kitchen and yelled:

"MAURICE! DOOR!"  
A few seconds later, a short, tubby chef came to the door.

"Your meal 'az not arrived yet? What table are you at?"

"Table thirteen."

"I see…what did you order?"

"Two plates of spicy mushroom pate."

"Oh, I see. We're sorry for the mix-up, but the kitchen is closing in five minutes, you will be refunded for your meal, and please, take zis complementary bag of ze finest French mushrooms."  
Mr. Remora grumbled, and walked back to his table with the mushrooms,

"Come on, we're going home, I need a banana."

"What happened dear?"

"I'll explain on the way home."

Mr. Remora got his refunded money and walked out of the restaurant.


	5. Of trucks and rocks

_"In my story about the dump truck," Mr. Remora said, as Sunny began to staple the pile of thick papers into booklets, "what color were the rocks that it carried?   
_

"Gray and brown." _**-Mr. Remora, TAA

* * *

**_

_Why would someone tell a story about a dump truck?_

_This is why…_

It is probably not necessary to tell you that Mr. Remora was eating a banana at the beginning of this chapter. It might be necessary though, to tell you that he was driving his car to the general store, and that he was in a flying rage.

He parked his car-rather crookedly-and stormed inside the shop, leaving his banana in the car.

"I'll kill him, I will." Mr. Remora was mumbling to himself.

He stopped short when he arrived at the counter. "You're not L!"

The young shopkeeper behind the counter looked confused.

"Excuse me sir?"

"I-I mean…um, I'm looking for a…friend of mine, he works here."

"What's his name?"

"Well…um…I know him by his nickname, you people probably don't."

"Can you tell me what he looks like then?"

"Well, he has short brown hair that is graying slightly, he's not very tall, but he's not short either, um…he's quiet, and very…um…he probably didn't have his face in his nametag."

"Oh, you mean Thomas?"

"Um…yes."

"He left about…a week and a half ago, I've heard that he was last seen as a bus driver down near Prufrock Prep."

* * *

Mr. Remora didn't say thank you to the shopkeeper, he just turned around and walked out of the shop, which is a very rude thing to do, if someone helps you, you should always say thank you, unless, of course you can't speak; then you might write it, or gesture it. But Mr. Remora could talk, and he still didn't say thank you.

"There's that bus."

Mr. Remora pulled his car up a long way away from the bus. He didn't want to be seen in a car.

He walked up to the bus and peeked inside. _The shopkeeper was right, here he is._

He walked around to the other side of the big yellow bus, and hopped on. The bus driver didn't look up.

"That'll be a dollar fifty for your ticket thanks."

Mr. Remora replied nastily:

"I was hoping _you'd_ pay."

The bus driver looked up

"R? What are you doing here?"

"You've got some explaining to do!"

"About what?"

"I'll tell you what! My wife is dead!"

"What? How did it happen?"

"Oh yeah, play innocent!" Mr. Remora held up a bag that resembled a potato sack, except that it was much smaller.

**Finest French Mushrooms**

"So, what's that R?"

"Don't be daft L! Look here!" Mr. Remora pointed to some writing on the sack:

_**Makes for a very fine dinner!**_

"Oh my." L was silent.

"My wife ate these mushrooms, and now she's dead! It's your fault and you're going to pay!"

"R, I swear I had nothing to do with this, I _swear_!"

"Who else could it have been?" Mr. Remora hissed, "Who else would have a motive?"

"I don't know R, but I swear, I promise I had nothing to do with this! I would never poison someone, least of all an innocent bystander!"

"Maybe you didn't think _she_ would eat them! You were trying to poison _me_!"

"No, I didn't, I wouldn't, I couldn't, you know I never would I-GET DOWN!"

Mr. Remora and L ducked and hid, as a dump truck carrying gray and brown rocks sped past

"Look R, I'm sorry for your loss, I know what it's like, but I didn't do it, you have to believe me."

Mr. Remora didn't say anything.

"I have to continue my bus shift now, so if you'll please get out of the bus."

"You _will_ pay." And with that, Mr. Remora jumped off the bus and watched it roll down the road.

"A very fine dinner indeed…"


	6. Of weasels and colors

_"In my story about the weasel, what was its favorite color?"  
** -Mr. Remora, TAA**  
_

I do not know the answer to this question, I have talked to many weasels trying to find the answer, but they all seem to have different favorite colors, or no favorite color at all. None that I have talked to have heard of a Mr. Remora, or VFD, but I dare not ask them too much, or I might give too much away.

So now I leave you, I have answered some questions, but some I leave unanswered, you could either make up your own story as to what happened, and answer those questions, or you could do your own investigating, although I feel as if I have exhausted every avenue.

Good luck (you'll need it)

With all due respect,

Emily.

* * *

**A/N: Yay! It's finished! I hope you liked it! I had fun writing it, thanks to all reviewers! I heart you guys!**

**RockSunner: I got the idea of the mushrooms from you! Thanks!**


End file.
